o.O.o.O
Exception
Roy Mustang X Edward Elric bias. (This would be my first attempt at a shonen-ai story. Please let me know how it is. Also, this is my first time trying and posting something other than Inuyasha stuff.)
darkenedmoonlightflame
He was the flame; wild, obsessive, jealous, and undyingly flawless. He was the metal; cold, detached, solid, and strong. Together they clashed, fire heating metal, fire melting metal away to just another ordinary male. There was an exception. How he despised it, but it existed. He never could melt away the unyielding pain of death and sorrow. One by one, the people forgot the legendary FullMetal—all but he, the Flame. Roy X Edward bias.
Disclaimer: I do not own FullMetal Alchemist, and do not claim to. However, everything else, AKA: the plot, writing, et cetera, IS MINE.
(A/N: … (sighs) I hate this tense. It's the present tense, even in the flashbacks. Such a nasty tense—I usually do everything in the past tense, except for my first person stories. I don't know… I guess this story struck me as more of a huge look into his thoughts, so I just used present instead. I wish I hadn't. (makes a face and sticks out tongue) So forgive all the awkward mistakes of switching back and forth. I'm not used to the wretched tense.
(For further comments and details, go look in 'Story Notes', part of the typical Author's Note at the bottom. ALSO, I've seen about a total of five FullMetal Alchemist episodes. So anything that is correct at the end of the series is just coincidence, okay?
(I'm still not sure about whether or not I want to split this up… You know what? I think I might, just to break it up although it's not that hopelessly long. I'll have a sad-like ending, a bittersweet end, and a happy end for all you sappy romantics like me. Okay, that sounds fine—but read it all anyway, PLEASE!
(So, presenting, Exception. Part I.)
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Exception
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The seasons had begun to fly past his throbbing head, doing nothing for his aching heart. The void inside his chest revealed nothing of his thoughts, and nothing of his troubled mind, and nothing of his concealed love.
'You should have told him.'
The taunts of his twisted, egotistical memory turn a sharp, heated blade in his right shoulder, a pang of regret in his left thigh, a scrape of an unwanted feeling here and there. The words don't stop, the randomness breaking his numb nirvana. Everything is unwanted, but he accepts it anyway.
'Look at what we've become. You are nothing but a pathetic male. You sold your soul to the military, and this is what you get. You are—were—nothing but a dog of the army to him.'
His faded dark, steely cobalt eyes narrow a fraction at this. His attractive face is contorted into a wistful frown. Sternly, his fists clench. He wills himself not to, resolute in every way.
'Go ahead. You know you want to anyway. If you don't, I will only come back later to haunt you. You wanted to touch him when he was around you, didn't you? What's so different?'
His unruly short locks sway in the soft breeze, the inky strands rustling. The uncomfortable tainted white ignition cloth gloves feel like a burden. The crimson symbol on the back of each hand tingles, and he wants to rip them off, after snapping unmercifully. He wants to create explosions, to incinerate the moment. He wants the temptation to leave him.
He wants to erase the dead memories.
'I won't tell anyone if you do. It'll be your little secret. Please, obey.'
His perfect smile isn't there. He is clenching his teeth, his tapered eyebrows drawn together angrily. The navy blue military uniform seems to drag him down, beating at his morals. The gold and badges that adorn him mean nothing any more.
'Why do you not listen to me? You used to take pride in yourself. What happened to the dreams, Brigadier General?'
There was a time in which he had wanted to change the world. He would run the military, commanding it with steel and care. He would make a difference. No longer...
'Was it because they murdered him?
"Shut up!" He shouts, enraged and distressed. "It doesn't matter to me! I'll still become Führer." He hung his head slightly. Even to himself, he was lying. It was obvious, too. Maybe that was why they had branded him as unstable, and had commissioned time off for him.
'You should have been there…
'You should have told him.'
He clutches at his head momentarily, and all traces of the voice are gone. His subconscious has retreated.
It was correct, though. "I should have told him." His eyes are sad, too aged, too exposed, and too wise for a young man of his exceptional talent and young age. He closed his tired eyes. "Too late, stupid." His hand is splayed across his face diagonally, hiding the grieving features. The white of his gloves only makes his complexion appear paler.
He was a handsome man.
"I should have been there… I was stupid to not tell you sooner. What would you say if you saw me now?"
This wasn't exactly true any longer.
The suddenness of the younger man's 'death' had sapped out his youthful, sleek appearance. All that was left was a distraught man, who had seen too much war. His well cared for existence had been erased, replaced with a half-hazard, care-not one. All that mattered was… was… the incident.
"Edward… I'm sorry…" His pained voice whispers, "I should have told you. I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
He knows he will never get another chance to say so.
'You should have told him.'
He can feel his heart breaking under the cold accusation he knows is so true.
…
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…
'Look at yourself. At what you've become lately.'
The voice is contemptuous, sneering in disgust. He lifts his head from its place, nestled under the stacks of never-touched paperwork. The sheets have piled higher and higher, undoing him. He is half-asleep, face ashen from the lack of it. The azure highlights in his hair are foreign to him, all of a sudden. His broad shoulders droop, strong arms supporting his chin. His half-lidded dark optics are together in unified absentmindedness.
His uniform is in disarray. The shoulder insignia is tilted joylessly, unbefitting of his new rank. The smartly ironed blue overcoat isn't so crisp. The cuffs are frayed. The collar is creased, the white trim dirtied, and the fold on the front of the coat is flopping, again. The polished buttons clash with his sickly tone of skin. The flaring coat is settled too well, and the metallic belt cinching it doesn't gleam. The loose indigo pants seem to hang on him, slinking into the dull black boots.
He doesn't shine with defiance, like before the incident.
'I'm ashamed for you. Pull yourself together. He's probably ashamed for you, too.'That snaps him out of it. He sits, ramrod straight, and sensibly does what he can. He signs the paperwork firmly, and moves through the stacks rapidly. When he finishes, three hours later, he allows himself an undignified yawn as he stands.
He doesn't forget to push the wretched chair in.
'That's better. Have yourself a nice bit of coffee, then I'll be back.'
He nods warily, and moves to the kitchen.
…
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…
"Congratulations! A promotion was in order for you—you deserve the good luck, for once!" His subordinates whistle and cheer for him as he shows up at the Central Headquarters, enormous piles of paper in tow. "Brigadier General, sir! Good to see you again!" They clap respectfully, smiling a bit outwardly. Inwardly, he can tell they are ecstatic for him.
After the incident, he was glad for the time off. He isolated himself, showed no emotion. Pulled up walls around his heart, anything to stop the dull hurt. He didn't want it. He got it anyway. So he lost what heart he had left. His friends didn't mind too much.
So he would try, just for them.
"A promotion was what I wanted, wasn't it?" He mutters, grinning half-heartedly as he waves. He feels almost happy for a change.
'It seems they got over him fast, doesn't it?'
The good mood vanishes.
"Yeah, it does." He answers out loud, earning himself strange looks. He snaps out of it. "Captain Hawkeye?"
He wasn't the only one to receive a promotion.
"Yes, sir?"
"Where is the rest of my work? I have a lot to catch up on." He remarks, handing her the massive amount of papers.
'That's a good boy. He'd almost be proud of you for not shirking, right?'He hoped so, as he took in his new office, filled with boring work.
…
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…
Six hours later, he went home, done. It is nightfall, the crowded streets empty. The sky is an indescribable shade of blue, the moonlight reaching past to touch those angles in his hair, then those in his face. His footsteps echo on the concrete, and silence the twirling grass.
'Very nice, Brigadier General.'
It was almost mocking, but he ignored the bait. Instead, he changes out of uniform, and into something comfortable. An ordinary pair of jeans, a tee shirt—his other clothes lay forgotten in a neat heap on the sofa. He snatches a coat, and is out the door.
'Where to, dearest sir?'It was definitely mocking.
…
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…
He stands there, back to where he stood in the first place.
In front of the object he loathes and loves so much.
The statue—it wasn't really one, though. It was far much more to him. He stood there, breathing quietly, orbs briefly roaming the steel figurine.
'Are you angry? You are angry? Angry, are you? Are you angry?'No matter how the words were rearranged, the answer was, "Yes." He spoke it aloud, fists clenched. His gloves were at home, thrown on the blue piles of fabric. His eyes are unreadable pools of fury.
'Should we kill them?'He sighed. "No. They thought it was for the best."
'They did this to him. I'm sure he didn't want it done. You didn't want it done, either, did you?'"Leave me alone. I have to think." He brushes off the traitorous murmurs of his mind, and stares at the statue.
It wasn't a statue. It was Edward Elric, one of the two famous alchemists. The legendary FullMetal Alchemist of Amestris... He was the elder Elric brother. His eyes had been molten pools of golden amber, and his hair spun sunlight. His personality was brutally accurate, crazy and ingenious. He had been searching for a way to salvage his younger brother's body. Not even caring for his own two Auto-Mail limbs. He was one determined boy.
He had been independent from the military, detached and cold regarding him.
Strong, stronger than the older man could have ever been.
He had been eighteen—no, nineteen—when they killed him and his dreams.
'It's because of the military that Alphonse Elric is still nothing more than a suit of armor. It's because of them that Edward isn't here next to you. It's because of them…'
"Quiet, please." He orders forcibly, and it obeys, knowing it's made a point. Sometimes that voice gets the best of him. Sometimes it's right.
Alphonse Elric didn't have much hope left. He was sad. He was a despondent suit of aging armor—what wasn't to be sad about? His older brother was currently a chunk of metal, dead most likely. The wars were over, but the family in which he derived fun from had vanished. He wouldn't be accepted at the military, either.
So he wandered.
He frowned deeper.
'You wish you had brought your gloves, don't you?'"Yeah."
'Maybe next time…?'"Yeah."
…
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…
"Hey!" The young man called out impulsively, eyes narrowed, face serious. "Come back! I want you to promise me something!"
He turned back, glancing over his shoulder. "And what could that be, FullMetal?"
"…" Edward Elric looked down for a moment, before whipping his head up. He fixed his gaze into the other's eyes. "I want you to promise to not… you know, to not just forget me. If I don't come back from this war."
A smirk slid across the other's face, despite the semi-seriousness of the request. "Forget you, FullMetal? That seems a bit hard to do."
"Just promise me, you useless tall loser."
"Okay." He nodded, hand extended. Edward shook it, before beaming. "Have a… remotely nice day down there, kid."
"T-Thanks. Oh, I won't forget you either, old geezer! Later!" Before the other could reply, he was out the door, leaving it hanging ajar. The man smiled a bit, before sitting down and staring at his hand.
"Don't mention it, Edward." His eyes softened a bit as he traced the boy's pathway out of the main building. Just as he was about to leave the vicinity, Edward turned back, and grinned at his superior. The receiver was taken aback. "I could never forget you."
…
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…
His eyes darkened as he observed the statue, filled with memories.
"Have you forgotten, Edward? I haven't."
The expression of the statue was nearly identical to that euphoric, mysterious one Edward wore that day. An enigmatic smile, wind blowing in his thick queue...
Except the wind couldn't move the metal.
…
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…
"Hey, you old loser—what are you doing back there in the bushes?"
"Show some respect, FullMetal. Besides, I'm surprised you could see me. I thought I was out of your tiny vision range."
"WHO'RE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HE NEEDS A TELESCOPE IMPLANTED IN HIS BRAIN TO MAKE EYE CONTACT?" The enraged Elric seethed, and he laughed.
"I was kidding. And to answer your question… Nothing, I'm just sitting down in the foliage."
"O-Oh. Sorry, then. Enjoy your mouthful of leaves."
"I will. It's good for your health. Just like milk."
"SHUT UP!" Edward fumed, and returned to a normal conversation with the fair woman next to him. He honestly hoped Edward didn't like her.
The man in the bushes sighed grumpily, arms across his chest. He frowned possessively. He glared at the blushing and love-stricken female. "Stupid woman."
"You'd better not have been talking to me…" Edward loomed over him, eyes burning with unseen fire.
"Nope, shrimp."
"Good." The Elric brother cleared his throat and inhaled deeply. "WHO'RE YOU CALLING A MICROSCOPIC SEA CREATURE THAT IS SO STUPID IT WALKS INTO ROCKS AND GETS SQUISHED BY A STRAY FOOT—!"
"I'm not." He stood, brushed leaves off his uniform casually, and walked away, leaving the blonde with his mouth open.
…
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…
He smiles.
'Fond memories?'"Yeah, close enough. Something like that." He leans forward, brushing a hand across the icy metal cheek of Edward Elric. "I should get going."
'There's always tomorrow. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back, right?'"Something like that." He cracks his knuckles and rolls his shoulders, before flashing a smile at the metal 'sculpture'. "See you in the morning, FullMetal!"
He didn't want to let the eldest Elric brother see his catastrophic turmoil. That wouldn't do at all.
…
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…
"I should have told him."
'I told you—I am always right.'
Late at night, he lies awake, memories flashing by him.
…
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…
"Colonel Mustang? Please report to Central Station as soon as possible! Direct orders from King Bradley, Führer."
He blinks.
"Oh, well okay. Save my lovely paperwork for me."
"Sure thing, sir." Riza Hawkeye salutes him brightly, shuffling out of his office proudly to stand guard at the door, hands on her hips. The gleaming silver gun there sparkles wickedly, as do her hazel eyes and immaculate blonde locks.
He fiddles with his paperwork for a minute, before sighing and fetching his coat. "What an odd request." He leaves, closing the door firmly behind him. He pauses halfway down the hall, mid-stride. "Riza?"
She looks up sharply, glaring in confusion. "What is it, sir?"
"Could you please bring FullMetal to my office when I return? I have something… important to tell him." He looks down at the ground, serious and pensive. Riza brushes it off as nothing when he looks up again, cheery and happy.
Then again, she noticed him sporting a healthy flush as he left.
She hid a little grin when she put two-and-two together.
…
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…
To this very day, he wishes he hadn't gone.
'Terrible, isn't it? What they did to you two.'
"Yes."
He can do nothing but agree.
…
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…
"So nice to see you again, Colonel Mustang." It is King Bradley, in all of his glory. His down-turned moustache seems ominous. "If I were to ask how long you've been in the military, you'd respond with…?"
"… I'll be blunt. I don't understand what you are getting to, Führer." The eye patch that conceals King Bradley's eye darkens in sync with his other one. He runs a hand over his cropped hair.
"It's for your own good."
He felt panic creeping up inside him, his eyes widening. "A-Are you saying you're going to pull me from the military, sir?" He tenses in anticipation for the answer.
The wizened man sighs. "No. I'm sorry to do this to you."
Relief washes over him like a flood, but outwardly nothing has changed. "Then what?"
Kind Bradley looks at his watch. "It is done. That's all. You may go."
"W-What?"
"Dismissed." There is something very sad in the old man's eyes.
Something he does not like the look of at all.
…
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…
His eyes narrow darkly, and his fists clench tightly. "Where are my gloves?"
He still hates himself for relaxing so happily like that at the reassuring 'no', when something bigger was going on.
'If I tell you, you'll kill somebody, won't you?'
"Tell me."
'No. It's for your own good.'
Those familiar words break him, he falls to his knees in the middle of his home, vision blurred. His face is despondent, so lonely and forlorn. He feels like a helpless, hopeless child. "Please! Not those damned words! Not again! Anything but them…" He feels frustrated tears prickling his onyx-blue eyes.
He can't help it all of a sudden—he's crying. Sobbing madly, on his knees, then pulling himself upright, chin on knees. He's crunched into a small rectangle, mourning for Edward.
"Edward, I'm sorry! Damn it, I'm sorry!" He screams, in emotional anguish.
'I think he knows.'
Roy Mustang, Brigadier General, Flame Alchemist of the Ishbal Massacre, never-to-be lover of Edward Elric, clutched at his head and wept harder.
…
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…
When he finishes a bewildered but contemplative stroll back to his office, he is met with a surprise. Riza Hawkeye, First Lieutenant is bawling her eyes out. Her face is contorted into an expression of grief, her hands over her face. The tears don't stop when he walks in on her.
She is slumped in the hallway, her shoulders shaking, shaking, and shaking uncontrollably.
He is shocked.
"W-What the hell happened?"
"E-Edward! H-He… Th-They…"
He can feel his heart sinking down, deep inside him, already. "Riza." He says sternly, a lump forming in his throat, tightening the words. His voice is burdened with stricken qualities. "Tell me."
"They murdered him! In front of me!" It is then that he notes the splintered door, and drops of blood in the hall, the smell of musty officer uniforms, and the trampled pathway leading outdoors.
His eyes go wide, and his notoriously 'icy' heart stops beating. He falls, legs unable to sustain him. "N-No…! I never told him—!"
"Told him… what?" She wipes her optics clear, but water wells up again.
He can feel himself ready to cry, too.
"C-Colonel?"
So he does, his sorrows pouring out with every tear.
…
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…
Technically, they hadn't killed Edward.
Instead, what they had done was worse. They'd made him to run first—when he understood what they were going to do. In the end, he realized he couldn't win. So Edward stopped, where he visited him every single day, twice at the least.
His fellow alchemists transmuted him into solid steel. It was a mere mockery of his name, FullMetal, but something that could withstand time. They wanted to make him last, to make his death agonizing, painful, drawn-out.
It was likely that Edward never knew why.
It was because of him, because of the Flame Alchemist.
He was the flame; wild, obsessive, jealous, and undyingly flawless.
'Or is it flawed, now that our love is gone? Now that we really do have no heart.'
Edward was the metal; cold, detached, solid, and strong.
'Edward… I miss you so.'
"Edward… I miss you so."
It was one of the only things he and the voice could agree upon.
Together they—fire and metal, he and his Edward—clashed, fire heating metal, fire melting metal away to just another ordinary male. There was an exception.
He hated exceptions. How he despised it, but it existed.
His strong flame could melt anything. Almost anything… Just that one exception… He was powerless when it came to freeing Edward from the metal shell. He'd tried. Tried and tried again to melt that statue away. He resented it. It was the one exception to his powerful flame alchemy.
He never could melt away the unyielding pain of death and sorrow.
One by one, the people forgot the legendary FullMetal—all but he, the Flame.
…
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…
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(A/N: Originally, I'd just planned this to be a really short one-shot. A quick 'drabble', maybe, with Roy thinking about Edward's fate as a steel statue. Just something long enough for Roy to 'steal' something (that's in the next part). (s.d. smirks) Not that I'm complaining.
Anyhow, please finish reading the piece. There is more information about Edward's death and Roy's feelings and blah. Just give it a try, and let me know what you think, please!
Yeah… That's really all there is to say for the kind of sad ending!
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Japanese Vocabulary Index;
I'm so happy! There are no words! I omitted them all, because the FullMetal Alchemist series didn't strike me as one with too much Japanese mentioned. (Hence why all first names are first, and not second.)
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Story Notes;
—Sorry I started off with such a weird line…
—And made Roy seem crazy. He's not… but that little voice is kind of mean and it plays dirty. Poor Roy, he got branded as 'unstable'.
—Did you notice that where he feels the taunts is where Edward's Auto-Mail limbs are?
—I promoted him because I could. I haven't even seen more than five episodes of FMA, but here I am, writing a story. Sad, isn't it? I actually had to go and research which rank was which, and look around for uniform pictures.
—I had to put paperwork in somewhere! Even I know Roy hates paperwork. Such a shock for him to do it without Hawkeye's gun around...!
—I'm kind of sorry that I made Edward into an inanimate object… I mean, what kind of idiot wrote this? Oh, wait. I'm the writer. NEVER MIND. At least birds don't stand on his head. (Get it? Birds usually like statues.)
—That voice kind of makes Roy seem like a psychopath. (blinks) (shudders) Moving on.
—I let Edward live four extra years. That means Roy was thirty-three when Edward literally becomes FullMetal. HINT (to what?): Two years have passed since his death.
—The first flashback is very out of character. The others are a bit better.
—Wow, Roy is so jealous! Sitting in the bushes by a restaurant to spy on Edward and some girl. (It's probably his cousin or something. I don't know, even though I'm the author.)
—"WHO'RE YOU CALLING A MICROSCOPIC SEA CREATURE THAT IS SO STUPID IT WALKS INTO ROCKS AND GETS SQUISHED BY A STRAY FOOT—!" Sorry. I just felt that that needed a replay. It was better than the telescope one.
—In this, King Bradley is just some leader. Not anything special or something. (He might be in the series, but this is MY story.) STUPID BRADLEY, why can't you die? (I guess because I don't see a point in killing him off yet.) He pulled Roy from the office to distract him from helping Edward.
— … That was some intense emotion display, Roy.
—Yes, I incorporated the summary into the story. Got a problem? No? That's nice to hear.
—I think the story improves as it goes on, because it isn't so cliché. So read the next part(s)!
—Key: ('Kotsu: For those unused to dark's style.)
This shows either a change in scene or time tense (past present):
…
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…
"Speaking."
'Thinking.'
Flashback.
'Voice.'
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I can hardly believe it. I'm DONE? (I feel like I'm forgetting something.)
Nonetheless, I'm posting this immediately so I can go back to crazy and hectic updating! YES!
Ja ne,
o.O.o.O darkenedmoonlightflame O.o.O.o
And company. My adorably annoying muses. 'Kotsu and the Sess-sen.
(P.S. Hope you enjoyed this, and will show some self-restraint when poking fun at us… If not… (evil smile) Anyhow, thanks for reading the first part of Exception! (faint laugh) NOW KEEP GOING!)
Chapter Finished: 6.26.06.
Post: 6.29.06. Consider this an early Fourth of July present!
Spell Check: Yep.
Brain Check: Hnn. That's not funny 'Kotsu. But then again, it is. (glares) Too… tired (and busy)… to… strangle!